Translator: CinderTL
Roland took a small sip of the pale yellow wine in his glass, his gaze thoughtfully fixed on the middle-aged noble at the center of the crowd.
"That must be Masdon, the leader of the Noble Faction," he murmured.
Though nearing fifty, the leader of the Noble Faction maintained a remarkably upright posture. The lines etched by time on his face, far from diminishing his dignity, subtly revealed the handsome contours of his youth.
Unlike the nobles of other River Domain Nations, Masdon's demeanor exuded an elegance and composure that mirrored the aristocracy of the Golden Valley Kingdom, as if born with an innate sense of poise.
The only imperfection was his crippled right leg, which now rested casually against his cane, slightly disrupting his carefully maintained aristocratic bearing.
"Gentlemen!" Masdon raised his wine glass, his face radiating barely concealed joy. "I believe many of you are already aware of the purpose of this banquet."
He paused deliberately, allowing anticipation to ripple through the crowd.
"That's right! I have forged a friendship with the Dwarf King, and soon dwarven artisans will arrive to assist in our kingdom's construction!"
"To friendship!"
"To friendship!"
Led by Masdon, the nobles raised their glasses in unison, their cheers seemingly laced with pent-up frustrations from their daily lives.
Roland frowned slightly upon hearing the news.
As far as he knew, there were no dwarf-established kingdoms bordering the River Domain Nations.
Moreover...
"Why are they so excited?"
Normally, the resource-rich River Domain Nations establishing diplomatic relations with other countries would be commonplace. Why was this particular announcement causing such a fervent reaction?
Just as Roland was pondering this, a measured set of footsteps echoed from outside the hall.
A group of people in elaborate formal attire, their chests embroidered with various marine motifs, slowly entered.
"Members of the Merchant Faction?" Roland mused inwardly, surprised.
He had become well aware of the tense relationship between the two factions during his time here.
His gaze fell on the leader of the group, and he immediately understood.
"So, this must be Derek."
The man was stout but not bulky, his friendly smile carrying a hint of calculation.
He spread his arms wide, ignoring the astonished or resentful glances from the surrounding nobles, and strode directly toward Masdon.
"Oh, my dear old friend! How could you host such a grand banquet without informing me?"
Masdon's smile froze imperceptibly for a moment before returning to its usual warmth.
He embraced Derek warmly, replying with veiled meaning, "Welcome, Derek. I was concerned you might be too busy with official duties, after all..."
He paused meaningfully.
"I've heard the elven race has rather intricate customs. I worry you might be stretched too thin."
Derek chuckled softly, his voice smooth and deliberate.
"I have been quite occupied with official duties lately. However, when it comes to such a momentous matter as establishing diplomatic relations with another nation, how could I possibly neglect to consult with you? To that end..."
Before he could finish, heavy footsteps echoed through the hall.
In an instant, a mountainously imposing figure appeared before them.
"Quite the gathering."
Roland's eyebrows twitched slightly as he surveyed the room after Graham's arrival.
The faces of the Merchant Faction members glowed with barely concealed triumph, while the nobles' expressions shifted dramatically, some even betraying a flicker of fear in their eyes.
Graham's presence silenced the once-boisterous banquet hall, leaving it utterly still.
Derek, however, seemed oblivious to the tension, continuing smoothly.
"To that end... I specifically invited Mr. Graham to attend. I believe..."
Watching Masdon's smile gradually fade, Derek's lips curled into a faint smirk.
"You haven't forgotten our previous agreement, have you? When discussing matters of state, Mr. Graham has the right to be present as a witness, correct?"
"You're right, old friend."
Masdon nodded expressionlessly, his gaze sweeping over the silent Graham before he leaned on his cane and stepped aside.
"This way, please."
"Thank you," Derek replied politely, then gave a few instructions to his entourage before following Masdon and Graham out of the hall, quickly disappearing from view.
After the trio departed, an eerie atmosphere settled over the banquet hall.
Though the chatter didn't diminish, the Merchant Faction and Noble Faction remained distinctly separated on opposite sides of the room, as if an invisible barrier stretched between them.
This tense atmosphere only began to dissipate when Galvis took the stage to perform.
The bard's singing seemed to possess a magical quality, gradually dispelling the heavy tension in the air.
Guided by his melodies, the two factions, though still not interacting, gradually immersed themselves in the festive atmosphere of the banquet.
Only Roland remained completely unaffected.
He observed the scene with keen interest, his gaze lingering particularly on the figure singing passionately on the elevated stage.
Is the bard's power some form of mind control? he mused inwardly, recalling his first encounter with Galvis and the strange atmosphere between him and Avril that day.
Why did the bard choose me? Was it solely because of my strength? Or was there more to it?
Roland frowned, thinking of the overly enthusiastic brown-haired elf girl, Avril. He doubted her enthusiasm stemmed purely from his appearance. It wasn't paranoia; he simply believed that in this world, love and hatred never arise without reason.
His friendship with Sean and the others had been forged through shared experiences, but Galvis and Avril...
Just as Roland was lost in thought, the door to the inner chamber swung open again. This time, Derek led the way, with Masdon and Graham following closely behind.
The Knight Academy Dean remained expressionless, but the middle-aged noble's transformation was unmistakable. The once-elegant noble now pressed his lips into a tight line, his cane striking the floor with heavy, muffled thuds.
The negotiations clearly didn't go well.
Sensing the tense atmosphere, Roland set down his wine glass and subtly shifted to the side.
In the distance, Galvis, who had just finished his performance, was waving to him from beneath the stage.
"None of these conflicts concern me," Roland thought. "My immediate priority is to learn the Wolf King's stance on the Noble Faction's party."
As he pondered this, his keen hearing picked up the sound of approaching footsteps.
Roland stopped and turned toward the sound.
He saw Derek, having parted ways with Masdon, walking directly toward him.
"You must be Mr. Roland," Derek said, his round face bearing a practiced, cordial smile. "Colin often mentioned you in his letters. I apologize for involving you in this dispute that has nothing to do with you." He glanced sideways at Masdon, who stood silently in the center of the crowd.
Roland was slightly surprised by Derek's humble demeanor, but he quickly regained his composure and bowed slightly. "You're too kind, Mr. Derek. I've already spoken with Mr. Graham."
Derek cut straight to the point, his gaze earnest. "He may have played a small prank on you earlier. Please don't take it to heart. Tomorrow morning, you can go to the Knight Academy and find Old Nielsen to receive the Knight's Breathing Technique."
(End of the Chapter)
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